


The Heart of a Champion

by FactoryKat



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anders Appreciation Week, Gen, Hawke & Varric Tethras Friendship, Hawke at Skyhold, Hawke meets Inky, M/M, Mage Hawke (Dragon Age), Mage Trevelyan (Dragon Age), Minor Anders/Male Hawke (Dragon Age), Named Trevelyan (Dragon Age), Platonic Female/Male Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-17 14:07:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21055661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FactoryKat/pseuds/FactoryKat
Summary: Hawke stirred uneasily under her studious gaze. Was she judging him? The scrutiny was expected honestly. After all, he did run off with the apostate who destroyed the Kirkwall chantry and abandoned the city he was supposed to protect.Or in which Hawke meets the Inquisitor for the first time.





	The Heart of a Champion

**Author's Note:**

> Another piece submitted for Pro-Anders Week on Tumblr - not quite in theme, but still related to Inquisition. Also, this work directly follows: A Promise https://archiveofourown.org/works/18752239

"Varric? Did you need something-"

He overheard the woman's voice and the words that followed come to an abrupt stop as he descended the stone stairway, the leather and steel of his armor creaking with every movement. The dramatic feel of his entrance was not lost on him, not with his deliberate steps and the rays of the sun casting light driving his path, illuminating his figure from the tips of his greaves to the top of his head. 

Wyatt had no way of knowing what the others felt, but he exhaled gradually by the time he reached the bottom and stood on the battlements across from them. He was suddenly hyper-aware of his own self-image with his height putting him several heads above his dwarven friend and perhaps at least a head-and-a-half or more above the young woman just off to the side. Being wreathed in bright, spiky armor didn't help, he surmised. 

"Hawke, meet the Inquisitor!" Varric proposed. The was dwarf inexplicably cheerful, or even a touch smug. He wasn't sure how to place his friend's disposition precisely. Regardless, he nodded his head and presented a smile he hoped appeared friendly if reserved. Varric continued with the introductions, standing back to give them leeway. "Inquisitor, meet-"

"The Champion of Kirkwall?" she finished coolly, not taking her eyes off him. 

The title was an unworthy crown, heavy and ill-fitting on his head such that it never sat straight.

Hawke stirred uneasily under her studious gaze. Was she judging him? The scrutiny was expected honestly. After all, he did run off with the apostate who destroyed the Kirkwall chantry and abandoned the city he was supposed to protect. He flinched, inwardly, of course, he had to keep up appearances. "Effectively retired. My name's Wyatt, but just Hawke is fine." 

He extended his hand towards the Inquisitor for a shake, only to retract it just as suddenly when she looked dubiously upon the gauntlet offered to her. "Sorry-" With an embarrassed chuckle, he produced his left instead. The hint of a smile touched her fade-green eyes as she accepted the handshake. Such a small, insignificant thing was enough to bring a sheepish grin to his own face. 

Beyond the smile, her posture was indifferent, neither timid or impudent. Hawke couldn't get a proper read off of her. She carried herself with a degree of pride; she was well-groomed and reasonably lovely too. Likely noble-born. He could see that much, but otherwise, she was a blank slate. At least for now. 

Varric broke the rising tension, surely noticing his skepticism. "Hawke, we were hoping you could give the Inquisitor here some advice. About Corypheus."

A complete tonal shift settled over the ramparts with the mention of that name. In an instant, his mood spoiled, and his face fell. Guilt clawed at him still, no matter how much Anders or Varric wanted to insist he hadn't gone into the Deep Roads alone or declared that they were just as responsible, he refused to see it that way.

_ Finally, Wyatt stopped and closed his fist, frighteningly tight enough for worn fingernails to dig into the soft flesh of his palm. "I have to. Corypheus wouldn't be awake if it weren't for me." _

_ "If it hadn't been for us. You didn't go marching into that prison alone." Anders reminded him sternly, seizing his other hand. "But it's not your problem anymore. Nor whatever is happening with the Wardens. Let them solve their own problems."  _

_ "But it wasn't your blood that broke the seals again. It wasn't your father that-" Wyatt clenched his teeth and chewed his tongue, swallowing the bitter words.  _

_ Anders frowned disapprovingly as Hawke pulled away. "You're right, it wasn't." _

It was a sobering reminder of what brought him to Skyhold in the first place. Wearily he grimaced and ran a hand through his hair. He had  _ cleaned up _ so to speak, before departing, and resembled every bit the man he was before leaving Kirkwall, if not merely a few years older. Hawke turned his back to the Inquisitor and leaned forward against the stone wall of the battlements. "To be honest, I'm not sure what more I can tell you. This whole business about an Archdemon is news to me."

The Inquisitor drew close, listening intently much to his astonishment. "Any lead would be welcome. I'll take almost anything at the moment." 

Well, the pressure was on now, wasn't it? 

He felt fortunate that the Inquisitor couldn't see the dumbfounded expression on his face. Undoubtedly he had a reputation to uphold if he knew Varric for anything. "You already dropped half a mountain on the bastard I hear. If that didn't do the trick, I'm sure anything else I come up with would pale in comparison." Wyatt idly scratched the back of his head. He had been so anxious to come and find a way to help to make a difference, but now that he was here, it almost felt like he had no place in the puzzle. 

There had to be something he could contribute. "Don't suppose you have another mountain to hit him with?" 

Varric erupted into laughter, and mercy had it that the Inquisitor herself joined in. He was glad at least that he could bring some minor joy to an otherwise bleak discussion. "Truthfully, I'm at a loss. We thought we had killed him. We saw it, saw  _ him _ dead on the ground when it was all over. How he walked away from that is very much uncertain, though I do have my suspicions. Originally, the Grey Wardens had sealed Corypheus in some sort of underground prison in the Deep Roads that ran beneath the Vimmark Mountains. They used my father to do it. With blood magic rituals. We thought he was some kind of darkspawn, still might be, but - there's more to it than that. He is connected and has shown he is capable of influencing the wardens via the taint in their blood. I saw it happen once, to someone I care about, and I couldn't risk it happening again."

Fleeting anger and anxiety competed for dominance as they coiled around his heart within that brief window of recollection, memories of the event flitting through his mind before he chased them away. There was no point in dwelling, but the possibility it was happening again was infuriating. 

Recognition manifested on the lady Inquisitor's face, as though she knew of whom he spoke. If she read Varric's novelization of his time in Kirkwall - The Tale of the Champion - or had even spoken to the dwarf about him at any point, then she indeed would know. She didn't say anything about it, but it was plain as day on her face. For better or for worse, he could not tell just yet. 

When she did not speak up or react to anything else said so far, he continued on. "When I heard something was going on with the Grey Wardens in Orlais in the same mention of Corypheus, well, I knew it had to be related. I've got a contact within the order, an acquaintance more than anything, but I've already reached out to him. If all goes well, we can meet up and formulate a plan. This is my mess to clean up, but hopefully, between the three of us and the rest of your people, we can put Corypheus down again. For good this time."

Wyatt remained optimistic. If there was anything he was good at, it was being hopeful and being crazy enough to try anything if he thought it might work.

With his back turned to Varric and the Inquisitor again, he swept his gaze across the courtyard below them. He observed the people milling about with quiet interest, whatever their business, and then trained his eyes upon the snow-capped peaks along the horizon. "Quite the view you have here, I'm almost a little jealous if I'm honest."

Almost like she didn't hear him, or deliberately ignored his attempt at friendly small talk, the Inquisitor's voice derailed all of his other thoughts. "Could you," she paused, and Hawke could see the gears turning in her mind before she finished her query. "Could you tell me about Anders?" 

The blood running through his veins turned to ice, and it took controlled breaths in and out through his nose, not to call up his magic or make some other threat to dissuade her from the subject. Wyatt wasn't naturally aggressive or quick to act out violently, especially not towards someone in any position of assumed authority, but he had been a little twitchy since arriving, and it had already taken every ounce of willpower for him to leave Anders behind. Hearing someone, a perfect stranger, ask about him was not good for his already frayed nerves.

Varric expressed his own discomfort on the topic as well, judging by the way he shuffled his feet, and his eyes darkened. This was not a subject either of them felt like broaching anytime soon, not with each other and not with others. They both knew Anders, Varric was very familiar with the nature of their relationship. Once the dwarf recognized his guarded behavior, Varric nudged him warily. 

"Easy Hawke, Lucky here is apparently on your side. Plus, she's not half bad at Wicked Grace."

He appreciated the attempt to maintain a friendly atmosphere if only for the Inquisitor's sake. Wyatt reckoned he should make a concentrated effort not to insult or offend his gracious host.

"Lucky, Varric?" Her mouth was turned up in a curious grin. 

Varric matched her expression. "Yup. Just ask Hawke. Everyone gets a nickname." 

Hawke's tawny brows knitted together in bewilderment, feeling his anxiety recede some. "Wait, why didn't I get one?" But Varric was already walking away and waving his hand in dismissal. "We've been over this, you're Hero, remember? Anyway, you kids have a good chat. I'll catch up later!"

Wyatt moved to protest the ill-fitting moniker, but the dwarf was surprisingly quick to disappear beyond the battlements. No one else was within sight, and the walls were empty but for himself and the Inquisitor. He scrunched his nose in annoyance and said nothing at first. 

Fortunately, she broke the ice first. "I apologize. It's a sensitive subject, I'm sure. I just - heard you two were close. I read Varric's book, heard the other stories, but I thought it might be better to hear it from you. Personally."

Hawke lamented and folded his arms across his chest. Body language was everything, and his message was 'not interested,' or so he hoped anyway. "And to what end? It seems to me everyone has already made up their minds about him anyway. Are we still together? Do I actually love him? Yes, and yes. With all due respect Inquisitor, we hardly know each other and-"

"It's Genevieve." She interrupted, disregarding everything else he had said. 

He balked, taken by surprise. "Come again?" Wyatt admittedly had expected her to continue prodding him for answers. 

The Inquisitor leaned against the stone walls of the battlements comfortably. She didn't appear at all put off by his bristly behavior. "My name is Genevieve. I figured it was less formal than Inquisitor or Lady Trevelyan." 

Well, he had been right about the whole nobility thing. House Trevelyan were Free Marchers, that much he knew, but anything else was beyond Wyatt's limited knowledge. His mother had been noble-born, from the Amell line, but after running off to marry his apostate father, she had been all but disavowed from them. 

Well, now that his thoughts had been completely derailed - 

Wyatt shook his head subtly as if that would somehow help him get back on track. "I guess it only makes sense, as you already know my name. Well, Genevieve, I hate to disappoint you, but there's not much I'm willing to say right now." 

She stood up straight again and appeared to process what he had just said. "Alright. I understand. But when Varric said I'm on your side, I'm not sure you knew what he meant." Genevieve held out her hand, and Hawke swore he could feel the pull of the fade before little sparks erupted from her palm and electricity danced between her fingers. Her pale green eyes were trained on him curiously, waiting for a reaction. 

Suddenly, everything made a lot more sense, and Wyatt was able to look at the Inquisitor with a whole new perspective. His arms fell back to his sides, and his posture relaxed. After a moment, his mouth twitched with a hint of a smile. "Ahh, I see. I wasn't made aware that you were a fellow mage. Funny how some details get lost in translation." Mage or not, she was still effectively a stranger. He did, however, feel a little better about her. His optimism hoped she was the sort of mage who appreciated what Anders had been trying to do, understood that changing the world was never going to be easy nor without hardship. It was complicated. Anders was complicated, challenging, and the most stubborn man he'd ever known, but Maker did he love him. 

Wyatt sighed, both in resolution and longing...

"Funny indeed," Genevieve quipped. Clasping her hands in front of her, she braced against the wall again, staring out at the snow-capped peaks. "I was in the circle. In Ostwick. It," she pursed her lips, finding the words. "It was tolerable, at best. At its worst, well..." her voice grew quiet, and the words trailed off, insinuating it wasn't a comfortable topic to discuss.

Hawke supposed that was to be expected. His active mind raced to fill in the possible background story, but he remained silent. That's assuming his theories were right, at least. He absent-mindedly rubbed the back of his own neck, uncertain how to follow up.

"I doubt many were grateful," She started again, saying so little and yet so much at once. "And those who were well - I'm sure no one sparks a revolution expecting gratitude." She smiled curiously, giving away her stance.

The mighty Champion lost for words. It wasn't the first time.

"You should join us for cards while you're here. I heard you were pretty good at Wicked Grace yourself. Unless that's another one of Varric's tall tales." 

She sure knew how to smoothly transition from one topic to the other. Now Hawke had an actual reason to grin. The corner of his mouth turned up. "I have a reputation to uphold, it seems. Alright, if there's time, you're on."


End file.
